


Law of the Pack

by bellatemple



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-23
Updated: 2009-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Dean finds himself unexpectedly in charge of a Cub Scout Troop, (possibly injured,) and Sam is missing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Law of the Pack

**Author's Note:**

> I really shoulda posted this awhile ago. Comment fic for [](http://spngenlove.livejournal.com/profile)[**spngenlove**](http://spngenlove.livejournal.com/)'s [Delight in Dean](http://community.livejournal.com/spngenlove/12588.html?thread=226092#t226092) meme.

Dean was trapped in Lilliput.

Not that he'd ever, ever admit to knowing what Lilliput was.

"Mister, hold still."

"Raise his arm up."

"Don't be stupid."

"Raise his arm up. I'm telling you. You gotta get the wound above his heart level."

"It's his _shoulder_ , fart breath, it's _already_ above his heart."

"You're a fart breath."

"Oh snap!"

"Did you just say 'oh snap'?"

Dean grunted, raising his own damned arm up, thank you very much, and waved it in the face of the redheaded kid brandishing the utility knife. "Hey. Who are you?"

"Alligator den, pack 138."

"That supposed to mean something to me?" Dean squinted at the mob of midgets. There were about ten of them, wearing identical little beige uniforms with kerchiefs and crazy arrays of badges all up and down their chests and sleeves. The one with the knife turned sideways to show off the little round alligator patch on his shirt, and the white numbers on a red background, sure enough, reading "138".

"You're boy scouts?"

One of the smaller boys towards the back made a little squealing noise. "He thinks we're _boy scouts!_ "

The serious looking kid next to the redhead -- with a bulge in his shirt pocket the shape of an inhaler -- shook his head. Seriously.

"We're webelos, sir."

Dean blinked. "That like a wendigo?"

Someone snickered.

Dean's head was pounding. He couldn't quite wrap his brain around the demented pre-teens surrounding him, their strange, esoteric speech that almost _sounded_ like English but clearly wasn't, or what the hell was going on. He rubbed at his eyes, then chanced looking away from the hobbit scouts to peer at their actual surroundings.

Trees. Trees. More trees. Ooo, look, a rock.

Right. Missing hikers. Billy Goat trail. _But it's not_ camping _Dean. It's a day hike!_

He was gonna kill Sam.

Sam?

Dean sat bolt upright and regretted it, and not just for the increased pounding in his head. The move startled the kids around him, including the redhead with the knife, who nearly took of Dean's nose.

"Right, hand over the blade, kid."

Red looked to Asthma-boy, who nodded, then offered the knife to Dean gingerly, hilt first. Dean grabbed it. Red didn't let go. Dean tugged gently, trying not to slice the kid's fingers. The kid still didn't let go.

"Dude," said Dean.

"You're supposed to say 'thank you'," said Asthma-boy. Red nodded vigorously. Dean stared at them.

"This is no time for a politeness lesson."

"It's protocol, sir," said Asthma-boy. "It's so he knows you have a good grip on it."

Dean looked at his hand, wrapped around the tiny hilt. "You can see I have a grip on it."

"Protocol, sir."

Dean rolled his eyes. The world swam a little. "Thank you."

Red let go and beamed.

"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked. A blond kid near the back of the group gasped.

"How'd you know my name?"

Dean groaned. He couldn't say he was in Hell, exactly, 'cause, uh, been there, done that, but this was possibly Purgatory.

"My brother. Stupidly tall guy, lame hair, pissy expression?"

The group blinked at him blankly.

"We found you alone, sir," said Asthma-boy. "We were looking for Mr. Mangino. He's our den leader."

Great. So not only was Sam AWOL, these kids were running around the woods -- where god knew what was hunting hikers -- unsupervised.

"Right, guess we've got a common goal, then." He waved at the kids. "Lemme up."

Red shook his head. "If you take off your flannel first, we can make you a sling."

Dean sighed. "Let me guess. First aid merit badge?"

Red beamed.

"Okay, okay." Dean wriggled out of his over shirt -- noting that one arm had already been cut open -- and handed it over, then poked gingerly at his aching shoulder. A good-sized stick was sticking straight up out of it, but it had already been immobilized by a mass of white gauze. "Huh. Not bad." He looked over the group again. "Any of you got a cellphone?"

Seven of the ten pulled phones from their pockets. "No signal, sir," said Asthma-boy. "And we haven't seen any park rangers or other hikers, either."

Greeeeeat. This just got better and better.

"Right. Guess I'm your substitute den leader, then." Red made short work of folding his cut shirt into a sling and handing it respectfully back to him.

"No offense, sir, but we don't really know if you're qualified," said Asthma-boy, clearly the geektard of the group.

"You're, what, ten?"

They nodded en masse. It was kinda creepy.

"Yeah, no way am I letting you guys wander around out here alone. You're stuck with me." Dean carefully slid his arm into the makeshift sling, then pushed himself to his feet. The scouts all craned their necks to stare up at him. "Uh, I'm Dean."

They all spoke at once. Dean didn't catch a damn bit of it. "Right, someone wanna try that again?"

A dark-haired kid in a plaid cap with a fleur de lis-y looking thing on the front of it stepped forward. "That's Billy, Tommy, Jimmy, Stevie, Sammy, Ahmed, Vinnie, Tony, and Hank. I'm Jane."

"Jane?" Dean looked closer. Jane was a couple inches taller than the others, wearing the same tan shirt but with darts and no badges, and jean shorts.

"Jane Mangino," sneered the short blond kid. Dean thought he might be Vinnie. Dean nodded.

"Boss's daughter, huh?"

Jane pursed her lips. "Our neighborhood doesn't have a brownie troop."

Dean blinked, picturing first a square chocolate pastry, then a small hairy man who worked for saucers of milk. "Oh." He looked over the rest of the troop. "Uh, yeah, okay, no way am I gonna be able to keep all your names straight. From now on, you're Red," the redhead, of course, "you're Wheezy", Asthma-boy, who frowned at the new name, "Short-stop," that was the blond who had a problem with Jane, "Stix," a particularly scrawny, tan kid towards the back, "Mordor," took skill to be a goth ten year old in a scout uniform, but damn if that pale kid wasn't pulling it off, "Emo, Curly, Shemp, Jane of course, and you're, uh. Ahmed."

"I'm Hank."

"Whatever. Where did you last see this Mangino guy?"

Apparently, the last place they'd seen Mr. Mangino was around the last place Dean remembered walking with Sam before waking up surrounded by scouts. The rocky cliff that edged Mather Gorge. Which, you know, was just _peachy_. They made their way back over, Dean stomping his way through the underbrush in the lead, listening to the awkward jerk and hustle of the tiny legs behind him. They'd gone no more than about ten feet before someone struck up a marching song.

Well, a song, anyway.

" _Pack 138 had a great leader,  
His name was Mr. Mangino!  
He made us sing some stupid songs,  
So we threw him out the window!  
The window!  
The second story window!  
He made us sing some stupid songs,  
So we threw him out the window!_"

Dean stopped and turned. Ten young, flushed faces stared back at him.

"You kids are some sick puppies."

Then continued to stare at him. "Mr. Mangino wrote it," said Curly.

Dean shook his head and turned back around, then grinned.

The song was actually kinda awesome, in a lame, campfire kind of way.

* * *

They marched for half an hour at a good clip and paused twice to check compasses and drink water, Dean wondering all the while how the hell he'd managed to end up so far away from where he'd apparently lost Sam. The kids broke out some snacks during the second break, feasting on granola bars and trail mix. Wheezy made a point of offering some to Dean.

"Would you like some GORP, sir? That's Good Old Raisins and Peanuts."

"I know what GORP is, kid." Dean shook his head and regretted it. Between the exertion of the hike and the jarring of the stick still jammed in his shoulder, his head and shoulder were killing him. "No thanks."

"You need to keep your energy up."

"Then offer me some GOPBMM." And wasn't that fun to try to pronounce.

Wheezy looked at him blankly.

"Good Old Peanut Butter M&Ms?"

"I don't carry candy on hikes, sir."

"Wheezy, you need to get a life."

Wheezy stared blankly at him. If he wore glasses, Dean was sure he'd be pushing them up right now.

"Let's hit the trail, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

They broke the treeline and made it to the edge of the gorge about an hour before sundown, by Dean's estimate -- though he was certain at least one of the scouts could tell him precisely the time the sun would set, quoting directly from an almanac. Dean got as close to the edge as he dared -- not very, but if pressed he'd blame that on the head injury rather than the twisting in his gut when he looked at that much empty space below him -- and peered over.

"You kids scan the cliff?"

He got a chorus of "no"s and looked back at them. Jane gave him a clear "are you stupid?" look and crossed her arms over her chest.

"We were trying to get to the visitor's center for help."

Oh. Right. That made sense. "Well, that was a good move." Dean looked out over the cliff again. "I'm not gonna be able to scale this sucker with my arm out of commission. You kids are gonna have to split into a search pattern. You know how to do that?"

The kids shook their heads. Dean sighed. "Okay, new tactic." He leaned over towards the edge again, opened his mouth, and bellowed.

"SAM!"

His voice echoed back at him, but at the tail end of the echo he could hear a return bellow. "DEAN!"

Dean grinned. "Hey, man, you okay?!"

"Yeah," Sam's voice responded, and Dean leaned ever so slightly farther forward until he could see one of Sam's big, floppy hands waving about from around a protruding rock formation. "We're okay."

 _We._ Please oh please oh please oh please -- "Mr. Mangino, I presume?"

A long pause, then a slightly fainter voice of an older man responded "Yes!"

"I've got your alligators up here."

The relief in the man's voice was palpable. "Are they alright?"

"Just fine. Cool as cucumbers."

"Jane?" called Mr. Mangino.

Jane grunted angrily. "I'm _fine_ , Dad!"

The rest of the troop laughed. Dean turned to offer his good hand for some high fives. After a long moment, Sam started talking again.

"Uh, I don't suppose you guys have any rope?"

* * *

The disappearances were apparently caused by the angry spirit of a dead hiker who'd fallen into the gorge back in the seventies, gotten stuck on the ledge overnight, and died of his injuries and exposure. He'd been found and cremated, of course, but Sam had managed to find a rusted out canteen with a chunk of hair wrapped around it in one of the cracks in the rock while waiting for Dean, and once they had the Alligator Den of Pack 138 safely on their way back home, the two of them set about torching the sucker.

Mr. Mangino had made it a point as he loaded his alligators into the troop van to invite Sam and Dean to a picnic they had planned in two days. Some kind of awards ceremony.

"It'd mean a lot to the kids if you made it," he said. Dean kind of thought it was more that Mr. Mangino wanted them there. He kept eying Sammy with a sort of bizarre hero worship. Not that the kids were any better with Dean.

"Yeah, we'll see," Sam said. When the van pulled off, Dean smacked him in the arm.

"Dude, we are so going to that picnic."

"Dean --"

"Free food, Sammy. Free food!"

The picnic was held in a rented pavillion in one of the local parks. There was free food, there were single moms, and there were kids asking Dean for adventure stories and advice about knives. He was in heaven.

The awards ceremony was way too long, of course, and the webelos, the oldest group, were saved for last. Sam slouched low on the bench next to Dean as they watched the Tiger Cubs get their orange, white, yellow, and black beads, the wolves and bears getting little fabric arrow points, applauding politely all the while.

"Dude, you remember when you begged Dad to let you be a cub scout?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at him like he'd lost his head. ". . . No."

Dean grinned. "You wouldn't shut up about it. You even traded your thermos for one of those kerchief things in first grade."

"I'm guessing Dad said no?"

"Of course, man. We didn't have the money for uniforms and crap. And it woulda been way too much attention on the family."

Sam tilted his head. "Woulda been good training, though."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."

Finally it was the webelos' turn, their awards leaning more towards the achievement end of things than the younger kids'. Red got a "compass point" for his "outdoorsman" skills, especially first aid, and pointed brightly to Dean, where he sat with his arm tucked in close to his side. Dean raised his good hand a little self-consciously, then flashed a wink at an especially pretty single mom towards the front. Emo and Stix both got points to go with some cross looking thing that apparently had something to do with technology, and Wheezy and Ahmed -- sorry, Hank -- got up to receive their "arrows of light".

It was around this point that Jane flopped down next to Dean.

"This is a load of crap," she said.

Dean glanced over at her, eyebrow up.

She glared at her father, standing proudly between Wheezy and Ahmed -- Hank -- and posing for pictures. "I've done everything they have. I did it _better_. But do I get special awards? No. Why? Because I'm a _girl_."

Dean had no idea what to say.

"How is that fair? All my friends are going to be boy scouts next year and Dad won't be in charge any more and I won't even get to _go_."

"Couldn't you be a girl scout?"

She rolled her eyes towards him. "They make _candles_."

She had a point. Dean tilted his head.

"You know," he said. "Sam and I, we did this kind of stuff all the time when we were kids." She snorted and he raised his hand. "Hear me out. We did this all the time, but we moved around so much there was no way we could join any troop or team. We just kinda . . . did it."

Jane went quiet. Dean chanced a glance at her.

"Do you really need a freakin' 'arrow of light' badge to tell you you're a badass chick?"

He'd just called a ten year old girl a badass chick. He was going to Hell. _Again._ Still, the language seemed to shock her nicely out of her pout and she brightened a little.

"No. . . ."

"Do you need a bunch of rules to tell you what order you get to learn stuff in?"

She shook her head. Kinda forcefully.

"Well," Dean said. "There you go."

The ceremony ended with the whole of pack 138 reciting the Cub Scout Promise:

 _I promise to do my best,  
To do my duty to God and my country,  
To help other people, and  
To obey the Law of the Pack._

Dean could hear Jane muttering along with it, though she switched up the last line with a look in his and Sam's direction, grinning a little evilly.

"I promise," she said, "to do my best,  
To do my duty to god and my country,  
To help other people,  
With or without the Law of any Pack."

And that was a promise Dean could get behind.


End file.
